When James Taylor arrived at Stellenbosch University’s (SU) Biomedical Research Institute (BMRI) on the Tygerberg campus at the beginning of 2025, he burst into tears.

While still living in Johannesburg, he had seen a YouTube video of the research and planning that went into world-class laboratories in the BMRI that would advance life-changing research. Now he was standing in front of the magical space. “It felt like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” he recalls with a laugh. “Like I had won a golden ticket.”

For James, the moment carried a significance few people around him could fully appreciate. Reaching that building had taken decades of determination, the unwavering support of family and friends, and a long battle with a disease that had repeatedly threatened to derail his dreams.

Living with aggressive multiple sclerosis (MS), James spent much of his life navigating pain, disability and uncertainty. For long periods he was wheelchair-bound and bedridden. At times, the disease affected his sight and mobility. Yet it also sparked the curiosity that would eventually shape his career. “I’m literally studying the thing I’m struggling with and the ensuing suffering and anxiety, and how to overcome that at a scientific level.”

The village behind the dream

James’ story begins, he insists, not with him but with the people who carried him. His mother, Tracy-Lee, dedicated years to researching treatments and advocating for her son. His stepfather Brian, his partner Wessel, grandfather Graham and great-uncle Terry all became part of the support network that helped him to keep moving forward when life became overwhelming.

“It truly takes a village,” he says.

One of the turning points came in 2018 when he underwent a bone marrow transplant. The treatment was gruelling, involving intensive chemotherapy and a long recovery process. Yet it transformed his quality of life. “I was one of the best responding patients in South Africa for the specific treatment,” he explains. “That means I’m no longer wheelchair-bound. I can walk again.”

The experience profoundly changed the way he viewed the world. For much of his life, he had been focused simply on surviving. Now he found himself asking a different question. “I’m not concerned with surviving,” he says. “I’m trying to find out how to live well.”

That search led him back to academia. James completed a BSc honours degree in psychology and neuroscience at the University of the Witwatersrand, graduating cum laude despite significant health challenges. Years later, while recovering and searching for a new challenge, he typed a single word into Google: “neuroscience”.

One of the results was a call for applications to SU’s MSc Neuroscience programme. “I thought, let me just try. It doesn’t hurt to try.” It turned out to be one of the most important decisions of his life.

Finding connection through science

Today James is completing an MSc in neuroscience in the Department of Psychiatry. His research explores innovative ways of addressing anxiety by combining cognitive behavioural approaches, virtual reality and neuroscience.

His fascination with the brain runs deeper than scientific curiosity. “My personal health journey with MS has deeply influenced my professional path. It ignited a passion for understanding the brain’s intricate workings and how our experiences shape behaviour and worldview.” 

What excites him most is the possibility of translating research into meaningful change. “Research should be useful,” he insists. 

His interests extend well beyond the laboratory. He loves painting, working with clay and exploring the intersection between science, art and human experience. He also has a wonderfully “geeky fascination” with hermit crabs. There are more than 300 species, he explains enthusiastically. They queue up to exchange shells and depend on one another in surprising ways.

The comparison feels fitting. Much of James’ worldview revolves around the idea that people, like hermit crabs, are not meant to survive alone.

Together we grow

That belief underpins his involvement in the Tygerberg Postgraduate Network (TPGN), where he serves in a leadership role helping postgraduate students connect with support structures and one another. Many postgraduate students live off campus and can easily become isolated, he says. The network aims to create a sense of belonging and community. “Medical students tend to suffer in silos,” he observes.

The work resonates deeply with him because he understands what it means to face challenges in isolation. Last year, after experiencing a traumatic incident, he reached out to SU’s Centre for Student Counselling and Development. Within hours, he had access to trauma counselling.

The experience reinforced a lesson he now shares widely with fellow students: asking for help is not weakness. “I think the one thing that I have learned is that you have to overcome the fear to ask,” he says.

As South Africa commemorates the 50th anniversary of the Soweto Uprising this Youth Month, James believes young people have a unique ability to challenge injustice and imagine alternatives. While he jokingly describes his philosophy as “optimistic nihilism”, it ultimately comes down to finding hope and beauty in difficult situations.

“In about 5 to 6 billion years, the sun is going to enter its red giant phase. Seeing that we’re all doomed,” he quips with characteristic humour, “we might as well help each other in the meantime.”

Today James continues to live with the effects of MS. Some days are harder than others. Yet he remains driven by a simple conviction: that suffering can be transformed into understanding, and that understanding can be used to help others.

His message to fellow students is equally straightforward. “Just reach out,” he says. “Know that we’re in the same boat. It doesn’t matter whether you’re in leadership, whether you’re a staff member or an emeritus professor. We all have lives. We’re all going through some stuff. Have some self-compassion and some grace.”

For someone who once feared his dreams might be out of reach, this is advice forged through experience. And every time he walks into the BMRI, the feeling remains much the same. A golden ticket. A second chance. And an opportunity to help others find their way forward.