If you decide to give up on life completely, that is entirely on you because honestly, Mikel Arteta has shown us that persistence can eventually produce miracles.
As Bobi Wine once sang, abalemelako be bamalako. The people who persist are the ones who eventually finish the race. And banange, if persistence was a human being, it would probably wear a black turtleneck and aggressively point at football players from the touchline.
I am not even an Arsenal F.C. fan, but secretly, deep down, I found myself rooting for Arteta because after some time, the suffering became too inspirational to ignore. The man deserved something.
He started resembling that one guy who has been chasing the same girl for eight years using consistency, prayer and monthly good morning texts. At some point, even village elders start supporting him out of sympathy.
When Arteta arrived at Arsenal in 2019, the club was in complete confusion. Defenders were passing the ball like people clearing land for road construction. Midfielders disappeared during games like government accountability. Players jogged back during counterattacks as if fuel prices had affected running speed.
The entire club looked like a WhatsApp group project where nobody understood the assignment.
Yet there stood Arteta on the touchline, calm and composed, adjusting his sleeves like a pastor preparing for overnight prayers.
You gotta lock in
And what did Arteta receive in return for all his hard work? Insults. Endless suffering. Public humiliation delivered weekly like a subscription service.
Fans attacked him with the consistency of Kampala landlords increasing rent. Pundits spoke about him like he was a failed boda stage chairman who disappeared with SACCO money. Every bad result came with emergency think pieces, dramatic YouTube thumbnails and emotional tweets beginning with: “Respectfully, Arteta is finished.”
Banange, people spoke like the man was personally in charge of Uganda’s electricity problems.
Still, Arteta refused to collapse publicly.
That is lesson number one in adulthood: you gotta lock in, because Kampala itself is already professional suffering with transport costs attached.
Your landlord still wants rent. Your boss still wants the report. Electricity disappears exactly when work is almost done and somehow life still expects emotional stability.
Yet every weekend, Arteta stood there in his black sweater looking calm while the football world insulted his entire family tree.
Meanwhile, some of us lose emotional control because the rolex guy forgot nyanya mbisi.
Protecting the gains
Protecting gains is a delicate art, especially when your gains initially look like confusion with good public relations.
Arteta somehow mastered the rare skill of asking fans to “trust the process” while Arsenal were busy finishing eighth. Twice.
Eighth
In football terms, that is like securing a reservation at a fancy restaurant, arriving late and still confidently asking for the full tasting menu while staff are already cleaning tables.
But Arteta remained calm, moisturised and emotionally unavailable to criticism.
While the world saw chaos, he saw progress indicators. While others saw collapse, he saw data collection.
Slowly, painfully, he turned suffering into structure, protecting gains everyone insisted did not exist in the first place.
Dangerous optimism
Ugandans understand this skill deeply.
We are people who wake up every January declaring: “This year must be different,” despite overwhelming historical evidence suggesting otherwise.
We budget confidently during the first week of the month knowing very well that by the 18th, transport money will be calculated using advanced mathematics and spiritual discipline.
Hope is part of survival here.
Without dangerous optimism, Kampala would emotionally collapse before breakfast.
Arteta also mastered the sacred art of rebuilding while suffering publicly.
Slowly, he removed toxic players, improved discipline and built a proper football system.
Which, if you think about it, is exactly what every Ugandan adult is quietly trying to do.
You remove bad habits. Distance yourself from chaotic friends. Attempt budgeting for at least two weeks. Start saying things like: “I’m protecting my peace this year,” while still owing people mobile money.
Every season Arsenal improved, but somehow Manchester City F.C. appeared like that rich cousin who ruins family competitions unnecessarily.
Arsenal would gather hope, momentum and confidence, then suddenly City arrives looking like football was designed in a laboratory.
Imagine preparing seriously for a village race only for one participant to arrive with a motorcycle.
Yet Arteta kept returning with fresh haircut and suspiciously tight black clothes.
This man has taught us another important life lesson: sometimes resilience is simply showing up again after disappointment.
That is adulthood.
Your business fails? Recharge emotionally and continue.
Relationship collapses? Drink water and continue.
Your landlord increases rent because “the area is developing”? Cry briefly and continue.
Ugandans survive through routine heartbreak with the emotional stamina of marathon runners.
Trust the process
One Arsenal victory and the fanbase behaves like global inflation has ended.
And honestly, that mentality matters.
Sometimes survival itself deserves celebration.
Your account balance survived until month-end? Celebrate.
You managed to avoid debt this week? Celebrate.
Your situationship finally replied after disappearing for six business days? My friend, buy soda or that spirit that binds us because adulthood is basically a long series of small victories mixed with confusion.
So if you truly want to be like Arteta, understand this: life will embarrass you publicly.
People will doubt your methods.
Sometimes your progress will look invisible.
Sometimes you will work hard and still finish second behind somebody funded by unlimited resources and questionable football science.
But keep going anyway.
Learn resilience. Learn patience. Learn how to suffer with structure.
And most importantly, learn how to stand confidently while chaos unfolds around you.
Because sometimes success is not about avoiding suffering.
Sometimes it is simply refusing to leave the touchline.
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