As global research centres race to unravel the mysteries of brain disorders, Professor Mohamed Salama stands out as one of Egypt’s and the Arab world’s foremost scientific voices working to bridge the gap between the laboratory and the clinic. Balancing his roles as a professor at the Institute of Global Health and Human Ecology (IGHHE) at the American University in Cairo (AUC) and the Faculty of Medicine at Mansoura University, Salama is driving a transformative shift in how Egypt studies and addresses neurodegenerative diseases.
He founded Egypt’s first Translational Neuroscience Unit and co-established the Egyptian Network for Neurodegenerative Disorders (ENND)—a rare, locally led national platform that recruits and analyses patient data to study genetics and biomarkers. Salama also co-leads AL-SEHA, Egypt’s first nationally representative longitudinal study on healthy ageing, designed to close critical data gaps on cognition and non-communicable diseases.
As an Atlantic Fellow for Equity in Brain Health at the Global Brain Health Institute (GBHI), Salama promotes an integrative vision connecting brain science, society, and health policy. He also leads the African Brain Health Institute Fellowship Programme, jointly hosted by AUC and Aga Khan University in Kenya, set to launch in 2026 as the first initiative of its kind on the continent.
In this conversation, Salama reflects on his beginnings, his philosophy of translational neuroscience, the challenges of research in Egypt, and how science can improve quality of life and shape healthier societies.
What motivated your transition from toxicology and clinical medicine to translational neuroscience? And what exactly does this field mean?
I wouldn’t call it a coincidence, but it was certainly unplanned. At that time, the Faculty of Medicine was launching what was then called the Centre for Experimental Research, and they held a competition for the best proposals in experimental—rather than traditional—medical research. As a young and ambitious researcher, I was eager to model Parkinson’s disease in animals using toxins, which became my entry point into true experimental work.
The project was approved, and shortly afterwards, the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) announced scholarships for doctoral candidates to complete the practical component of their research in Germany. I applied and began searching for a German researcher whose work aligned with mine. That’s how I found Dr. Günter Klingler, who specialised in experimental models of Parkinson’s disease. He agreed to host me, and once I received the grant, I left for Germany.
When I joined his research group—known as Experimental Neurology—it was a unique experience. Klingler was both a clinician and a laboratory scientist, constantly connecting experimental work to patients’ needs. That’s where I first encountered the concept of translational medicine: integrating clinical experience with laboratory research. Physicians could use patient insights to frame research questions, and then apply lab findings back to clinical care.
I stayed in his group for many years, during and after my PhD, working on projects funded by German and European agencies—all aimed at linking basic research with patient care. When Klingler later moved from Marburg University to Munich, he established a new Translational Neuroscience Unit, built on continuous dialogue between doctors and researchers.
That model deeply inspired me. When I returned to Egypt, I realised this field barely existed, so I decided to establish it here. With institutional support and funding from previous projects, I launched Egypt’s first Translational Neuroscience Unit within the research centre.
So translational neuroscience is essentially the bridge between the lab and the clinic?
Exactly—it’s the bridge. Instead of isolating laboratory research from clinical needs, it connects both sides. Countless experiments are conducted in labs, but the key question is: What do patients and doctors need now—and what will they need in the future?
Translational neuroscience moves in both directions: sometimes we start from lab discoveries and move toward clinical application, and other times, clinical observations send us back to the lab to explore underlying mechanisms. When direct human testing isn’t feasible, we use animal or cell models to test hypotheses in depth.
Given this overlap between experimentation and patient care, how do you approach the ethical dimension of research?
I currently teach a course called Bioethics at AUC, and I firmly believe that ethics form the foundation of all scientific practice. In the mid-20th century, some researchers justified unethical practices in the name of “serving humanity,” but in truth, the end never justifies the means.
We must adhere to strict ethical guidelines defining what can and cannot be done—whether in human or animal studies. Translational research itself was designed to prevent such violations; we don’t jump from an idea straight to human trials. We proceed in stages: starting with cells, then small animals, then larger ones—ensuring at every step that safety and ethics are preserved.
Even with laboratory animals, strict humane standards apply. They must be anaesthetised before any painful procedure and must never experience unnecessary suffering. These are not formalities—they reflect our respect for living beings and give us the moral legitimacy to apply findings to humans.
What did it take to establish Egypt’s first Translational Neuroscience Unit?
First and foremost, funding. No scientific research can succeed without adequate resources. Experiments require equipment, reagents, and trained personnel. Many researchers begin projects with limited funds and fail to reach meaningful results. Quality research demands sustained and sufficient funding.
Egypt does offer good funding opportunities—through the Science and Technology Development Fund, the Academy of Scientific Research, and various international agencies. But the rule is simple: don’t start until funding is secured.
Second, research questions must emerge from real-world problems—not merely from the desire to start a new project.
Third, specialisation. You can’t be a researcher in everything. Define your field clearly—clarity brings expertise and recognition.
Fourth, management skills. A research team consists of individuals with different temperaments and ambitions. A good leader understands each member’s strengths and distributes tasks effectively to maintain progress, even in their absence.
Fifth, a long-term vision. Science is cumulative and requires patience.
Sixth, international collaboration. Working with global partners brings funding, ideas, and diverse perspectives that propel your work forward.
And finally, persistence—research is a long and demanding journey.
How do you manage your research teams, given their diversity in experience and background?
Team management starts with understanding people. Not every researcher is alike: some are highly creative but dislike routine; others are excellent executors who prefer clear instructions; and some are skilled writers who excel at drafting papers and grant proposals.
The key is to place each person where they perform best. Clinicians shouldn’t be confined to the lab all day, and lab scientists shouldn’t be forced into patient interaction. Building mutual trust and making everyone feel like a stakeholder—not a subordinate—is essential.
When roles are distributed intelligently, the team becomes cohesive and productive, and results improve dramatically.
What was the toughest turning point in your career?
After returning from Germany, I was in a very stable position—good funding, a growing research centre, and a supportive director. Then I was offered the chance to join the Global Brain Health Institute, which was brand new at the time. It was uncertain; no one knew exactly where it was heading.
It was a difficult decision: should I leave stability behind for an unknown path? But I felt that too much stability dulls ambition. I took the leap—and it turned out to be transformative.
At GBHI, I learned that brain research isn’t just about cells and neurons—it’s about behaviour, society, and culture. I began integrating these dimensions into my work. The experience reignited my passion, expanded my global network, and gave me a deeper sense of what it means to be a scientist who drives change.
How do you balance your research ambitions with family life?
Honestly, I can’t claim perfect balance. Work often takes over. But I’m fortunate to have a very understanding wife. From our engagement, I told her I wasn’t going to be the typical doctor who runs a clinic and relaxes in the evening. My life would involve constant travel and long hours.
She has always supported me, even during late-night writing sessions, shielding our children from that pressure. She even gave up her own career as a dentist to focus on our family and allow me to pursue research. That kind of support is priceless—it’s what makes my demanding career sustainable.
You mentioned that delegation is one of your habits. How do you apply it within your teams?
I make sure not to be the “joker” who does everything. Delegation is central to success. I assign tasks to the most capable members and trust them completely.
Each team—genomics, clinical, or laboratory—has people with different strengths, and delegation allows them to shine. It not only lightens my workload but also gives everyone a sense of ownership and achievement.
We also don’t linger too long celebrating success. After each milestone, we quickly move on to the next goal. Continuity and progress matter more than celebration.
Tell us about the Egyptian Genome Project—why is it so important?
The Egyptian Genome Project is a milestone. It came late—Egypt had long lacked a reliable genetic reference, creating a gap in precision medicine research.
Now, with this project, we can study genes associated with common diseases in Egypt—such as heart disease, cancer, and hereditary disorders. We’re also tracing how Egyptians’ genetic makeup has evolved over millennia by analysing both ancient and modern DNA.
The project isn’t just about scientific knowledge—it’s a strategic step toward building a modern, precision-based national healthcare system.
Could you share a practical example of its impact?
In one of our Parkinson’s studies, we identified a gene called LRRK2, which affects treatment response. Without knowing how common this gene is among Egyptians, entire patient groups risk being overlooked in global pharmaceutical studies.
Once we have an accurate genetic map, we can tailor treatments, advocate for Egyptian inclusion in international trials, and make global research more equitable and representative.
When you talk about building a new generation of researchers in Africa, what vision do you hope to see realised in the next five years?
The ultimate goal is to elevate scientific research in Africa to a truly global standard. Many are working toward this, and we’re very close to announcing several major initiatives that I believe will genuinely transform the landscape of research on the continent.
It’s something we couldn’t achieve before, but perhaps in five years, my team—and others, including my students—will have the infrastructure and capacity to carry this work forward, whether I’m around or not. That’s the real goal. And, God willing, it will be achieved—and even surpassed.
