In a sweeping expanse punctuated only by thorny bushes and breathtaking mirages, the Afar Desert has officially embraced the title of the world’s least effective support group. The region, notorious for its blistering heat and parched landscapes, has become the unlikely setting for an initiative titled "Let's Talk," aimed at promoting mental health and social interaction among its sparse population. The campaign, launched last month, encourages residents to open up about their feelings, yet it seems the only thing on residents' minds is where to find water. "Sure, we could talk, but can you hear the sound of my dehydration?" lamented Meriam, a local who attempted to engage her neighbors in meaningful discussions. "Everyone here is so busy trying to remember the last time they saw moisture that we forgot to ask, 'How does that make you feel?'" Ironically, the campaign’s very slogan seems to echo across the vast emptiness, as villagers report that attempts at productive dialogue have devolved into a collective chorus of “Let’s scream!” and “Please send water!” Attempts to organize community circles have resulted in residents simply circling each other, desperately trying to remember the last time they took a sip from something other than the dried fig trees. A local representative for the National Institute of Desert Discourse reported a staggering zero percent increase in emotional intimacy among the townsfolk since the initiative began. “We thought we could build a supportive community, but it turns out people are more interested in talking about finding shade than expressing their inner feelings,” he admitted, wiping his brow as a mirage shimmered in the distance, reminiscent of a therapist’s office promising emotional relief. In a groundbreaking twist, “Let’s Talk” has now been rebranded to “Let’s Be Lonely Together.” The new initiative encourages residents to gather in small groups to share their favorite forms of existential despair while sipping on what they’re still calling ‘hope.’ But after hearing that hope is calorie free and requires massive reserves of energy to sustain, villagers are more uncertain than ever about actively persisting in the endeavor. Meanwhile, discussions about mental health have taken on a new flavor of desperation, with residents devising creative, albeit futile, coping strategies. One popular method is to stare wistfully into the horizon, where they imagine that somewhere, people are truly living without constant thirst and scorching sunburns. “It’s cathartic, really,” admitted Abdi, who hosts a weekly gathering called “Wishful Thinking Wednesdays.” “Sometimes, I forget I’m parched and just focus on how much I miss grass.” Psychologists from the nearby city of Addis Ababa are scratching their heads, attempting to find ways to make mental well-being a priority when any semblance of physical well-being feels like a distant star. “We recommend journaling,” said Dr. Tsegaye, who specializes in coping strategies. “But given that journals might self-combust in this heat, we advise residents to write their feelings in the sand instead. Just wish you could remember what you wrote by the time the wind picks up.” As “Let’s Talk” wanes into a blurry memory and “Let’s Be Lonely Together” tries to take hold, local leaders are forced to consider a new slogan altogether. Potential contenders range from “Let’s Scream Into The Void” to “Is This All There Is?” The latter has gained popularity, particularly among youth who are grappling with feelings of existential dread and parched lips. So now, as the sun sets over the Afar Desert and loneliness hums softly like a mirage, one thing is clear: while the residents are more than willing to talk about everything they can’t find—water, hope, and shade—they remain tragically unable to turn a lonely scream into a refreshing conversation. And that, dear readers, may be the saddest irony of this desolate landscape.