By Kingsley Agim
There are people who teach, and there are those who transform. Mr. Cornelius Ellah, fondly known as Cornel, is one of those rare gems who embodies both. A man whose journey into the classroom, from his own historical account, was almost reluctant, but whose impact within those four walls has been nothing short of divine orchestration.
Recently, when Cornel was named ‘The Most Impactful Lecturer’ at the University of Cross River State (UNICROSS), I felt a wave of emotions; joy, pride, nostalgia, but above all, deep gratitude. I smiled not just because he won, but because, to those of us who passed through his tutelage, this award simply echoed what we’ve always known: that Cornel is a master sculptor of minds and destinies.
For a second term running, Cornel has remained the Head of Department of Journalism and Media Studies in the Faculty of Communication Technology at UNICROSS. This is no small feat. It is a testament to his steady hands, his clarity of vision, and the trust reposed in him by colleagues and the university community. He doesn’t just lead by title; he leads by example, with the same humility and commitment that have defined his teaching career.
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Like the psychic octopus, Cornel knows almost every student he has ever taught by name. It’s a gift that still astounds students and colleagues alike to this day, not just because of the feat itself, but because it speaks to how much he values every individual who passes through his class. In a world where students often feel like faceless numbers, Cornel’s gift makes each student feel seen, known, and remembered.
I was once a young undergraduate in his Mass Communication class, sitting among dozens of others, sometimes lost in the sea of university chaos, but always found when Cornel walked into the room. His presence wasn’t loud or flamboyant, but powerful in its quiet conviction. His voice carried not just knowledge, but wisdom. He didn’t teach to fill our heads; he taught to shape our hearts.
Cornel made theory come alive. He bridged the intimidating gap between textbook jargon and real-world application. But more than his depth of knowledge, what set him apart was his heart. He didn’t just see students, he saw potential. He saw people. And in me, he saw what I didn’t yet see in myself.
There were moments in those undergraduate years when I felt unsure of my place in the world, uncertain of what voice I had to offer. But it was Cornel’s encouragement, his probing questions, his challenges and gentle rebukes, that helped chisel the writer, the communicator, the person I have become. He taught us to think, not just pass exams. He taught us to matter.
Even now, as I reflect on his personal story, how he found himself reluctantly drawn into academia just to please his late father, I am awestruck. That a man who prayed to fail his job interview would go on to win hearts, inspire generations, lead a department for successive terms, and be named the most impactful in a sea of brilliant lecturers, is poetic. It tells us something deeper: that calling often comes cloaked in discomfort, but purpose always finds its stage.
Cornel’s dedication, his humility, and his unwavering sense of responsibility, especially to the memory of his late father, have remained his silent sermon. And we, his students, are the better for it.
So today, I do more than celebrate an award. I celebrate a man. A teacher. A mentor. A quiet revolutionary.
Thank you, Cornel, for giving of yourself so completely. Thank you for every lecture, every shared anecdote, every patient correction. Thank you for showing us what it means to love one’s craft, to teach with sincerity, and to live with purpose.
While the world often echoes that “a teacher’s reward is in heaven,” I dare to pray that your reward begins here, on this earth, in the faces of the countless lives you have shaped, and in the generations who will carry your legacy forward.
May heaven too prepare your crown, but may the earth not delay in placing garlands at your feet.
With all the gratitude a student’s heart can carry,
Kingsley Agim
A grateful student.
Kingsley Agim writes from Ministry of Information Headquarters, Calabar, Cross River State.
