Kurt Johannesson: A life spent walking alongside the dying

Kurt Johannesson does not speak about death as an abstract idea.

He speaks about hands held, bedsides visited and the loneliness that often surrounds the final chapter of life. 

Now, with the opening of the 10-bed House Johannesson palliative care facility in Swakopmund, his name has become linked to a place dedicated to what he calls “the last, worthy path”.

The new unit, named after the former Cancer Association of Namibia chief executive of two decades, represents a public acknowledgement of a lifetime spent around illness, ageing and dying. Johannesson himself initially resisted the honour.

“I actually first refused it… it’s not about me, it’s about what you have done,” he said during an interview at the facility.

Born in Keetmanshoop in 1943 and raised by his grandparents, Johannesson’s early life placed him in close contact with older people long before he entered the health sector. He describes caring for elderly family members, cooking for them and accompanying them through sickness. “I already helped older people on the last path, where you can die in dignity,” he recalled.

A privilege

His professional arc moved from railway work and business to municipal leadership, where he served terms including under-mayor and mayor in his hometown.

Yet the thread that runs through his story is the repeated return to patients and vulnerable people. He said he visited elderly residents regularly, especially those aged 85 or 90, often remaining at their bedsides as they died. 

“It was not easy, but it was a privilege,” he said.

That experience shaped his approach to palliative care, which he believes must extend beyond clinical treatment. 

“You can be technically good, but if there is no love and tender loving care, forget it,” he said, reflecting on what he believes is missing in many systems that focus only on medicine.

Johannesson’s time with CAN placed him at the centre of changing attitudes toward illness. He remembers a time when cancer was spoken of in whispers. 

“In the past we did not talk about cancer… today we speak openly about prostate cancer, breast cancer,” he said, describing the shift from taboo to public conversation. 

He sees that openness as essential for families facing terminal illness.

A caring end

House Johannesson, he says, reflects the principle that treatment may end but care must not.

“There is a point where medication stops… but care doesn’t stop. It shouldn’t stop,” he said. 

He described the unit not as a place of decay but as a dignified environment where patients can complete their journeys without isolation. 

“It is a worthy place… where you want to be,” he said.

Central to his philosophy is the belief that families must confront death before crisis arrives.

He argues that people avoid discussing burial wishes, spiritual questions or final decisions until it is too late. 

“Every family should actually, before the time, deal with each other… what becomes of me? What do I want?" he said. 

Without those conversations, he believes both patients and relatives are left unprepared.

Loneliness remains one of his strongest concerns. Even in a facility designed to provide comfort, he warned that many patients still feel abandoned. 

“If these 10 beds are full, I can tell you that 50% of them are lonely,” he said, urging visitors simply to hold a hand or acknowledge a patient’s presence.

A worthy end

Despite decades of exposure to death, Johannesson describes himself as deeply emotional. 

“You cannot stand there and hold somebody’s hand… and nothing happens,” he said, explaining that compassion rather than detachment guided his work. 

He believes that emotional honesty allows caregivers to connect more deeply with those facing the end of life.

The naming of the Swakopmund unit closes a circle that began with his earliest encounters with ageing relatives and continued through his work with cancer patients and community care. He says the honour belongs not only to him but also to the broader effort to treat dying as a human experience rather than a medical failure.

“It is going to be the last, worthy journey that every patient will get at the end,” Johannesson said, expressing hope that the region recognises the facility as a forerunner in palliative care.

As House Johannesson opens its doors, the message he repeats is simple but confronting: death is inevitable, but dignity is a choice made long before the final day.