The Swedish dentist who keeps Greenlanders smiling

Swedish dentist Jonas Andersson first went to Greenland 35 years ago, and never quite got it out of his system. Now 71, and retired from his private practice in Sweden, he still goes back to treat patients in some of the world’s most isolated settlements.

For three months every spring, Andersson swaps his spacious home in Gothenburg for the small coastal huts in the villages around Nanortalik, in Southern Greenland, where he and a local team set up makeshift dental clinics in schools and community halls.

Today he has been unpacking his dental kit in a tiny settlement of 80 people in Aappilattoq in Greenland’s remote, southern-most tip. He has travelled by boat, accompanied by a hygienist (Arnaaraguaq) and an assistant (Henriette), with whom he will share a bunk room for a three-day stay. Children and locals look on curiously as they set up their makeshift clinic.

Early memories of Greenland

Andersson and his wife first arrived in the northern town of Uummannaq in the late 1980s. What was supposed to be a short stay turned into three years – long enough for both their daughters to be born, and for Greenland to become, as Andersson puts it, “a place that stays under your skin.”

Although the life there was basic and the winters long and dark, the couple grew close to the community and the way of life. It was only when their daughters were toddlers that they decided to return to Sweden.

“It was too tough and too specialised a place, for the children to grow up in,” Andersson recalls.

Back in Gothenburg, he built a successful private dental practice and settled into ordinary life. But after selling his practice a few years ago, he discovered that retirement wasn’t for him.

“I tried to stop working, but it was boring,” he says. “So I called Greenland’s public health service to ask if they still needed dentists. And they did.”

Dentistry out on the edge

With only around 17 dentists serving a population of 50,000, experienced hands are in high demand. “You’re on your own out there,” Andersson says. “You have to be able to tackle almost anything.”

In Nanortalik, he has access to the regional clinic, equipped with x-rays and a small lab for dentures.  But out at the settlements, conditions are far more basic — often just a chair, a lamp, and his travel kit.

“Without an X-ray machine, you’re sometimes working blind,” he says. “You can’t always see how deep a cavity goes, what’s happening under a filling, or how many roots there are on a molar, if a tooth needs to be pulled. So that all makes you a bit nervous.”

In each settlement, he and his team treat dozens of patients.

“In Sweden, there’s so much focus on aesthetic dentistry, with the whitening, and cosmetic corrections,” Andersson says. “But, here it can be more about taking away pain.”

Equal care, at any cost

Sending dentists by chartered boat to villages of only a few dozen people is costly, but it’s part of Greenland’s wider commitment to equal access. The public health service covers travel and expenses, so residents of even the smallest settlements receive the same care as those in larger towns. “It would be cheaper to bring the patients to us,” he says. “But it’s a political decision based on the thinking that everyone should have the same chance for care.”

Even so, he sometimes worries that because dental care is completely free, people may take it for granted.

Next generation smiles

Andersson’s biggest worry is children’s teeth. “Too much sugar,” he says. “There is a drink called Faxe Kondi, which is Greenland’s version of Pepsi or Coke. “They drink this a lot, a lot, a lot.”

He’s also noticed a divide in attitudes between the bigger towns and the villages. “In the capital, Nuuk, people might feel embarrassed about having bad teeth,” he says. “But out in the settlements, it doesn’t matter so much if you’re missing a tooth or two.”

Though he does sense a change in attitude among children from when he first lived here. English has now replaced Danish as the most common second language, which he attributes to the internet and gaming. “It makes the children easier to talk to,” he says.

During school visits, he and his team demonstrate brushing techniques and talk about avoiding sugary drinks. “The kids know what healthy teeth should look like,” Andersson laughs. “They see their idols online, and of course all those people have perfect teeth.”

A bond that carries on

Andersson’s bond with Greenland shows no sign of fading. What began as a short posting decades ago has become what he describes as a mix of adventure, belonging, and service. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. But then I look around, and I just love it. You get caught by Greenland somehow. It’s like a drug. You want to keep going back.”

His wife, back home in Gothenburg, always asks him to promise that each trip will be his last. He smiles. “But so far, I haven’t promised.”