The third victim was a guy called Nhamo. He had terrorized the village with crimes such as theft and burglary. He claimed innocence past the accusations.

One summer evening old man Msomi went into his hut after a meeting with other village counsels. He turned his lights on and saw someone holding his radio under his arm. Nhamo. He was stealing. Old man Msomi yelled. He yelled so loud he hurt his lungs. Neighbours came rushing at the noise. Nhamo tried to run away but Msomi yelled again and the people held Nhamo before he could escape. He could not account for his presence at the old man’s hut late at night, holding the radio. He was stealing. The accusations had been true all along. The angry men took Nhamo. Sensing a mob beating he cried and begged for forgiveness. 

Chief Ndawula had been known as a soft man. Weak. “An effeminate man who got to be head of the village because his father left him the throne,” the words of Nyiko, a potential candidate who was too eager for the chieftancey. Chief Ndawula was just weak. So the men couldn’t take Nhamo to him. They couldn’t take him to the police either because jail time didn’t feel fair. Still carrying him, they stopped along the way. “The bush!” one of them yelled and they all growled in agreement. Hearing that Nhamo wailed even more. He wriggled in the many hands that held him, cheering voices falling on him. Thumps of many feet under him. The grass of the bush appeared in a corner ahead under the setting sun. 

Nhamo started shaking, trying to free himself from all these hands but they slapped him. He was still, but the tears weren’t. Nhamo cried, begging. But the men tossed him on the bush, which was no more different than to be thrown into a pool of fire. The men laughed at how jumped up upon his first landing. He ran but they pushed him right back into the bush. The men separated to surround the bush, blocking every exit. Nhamo climbed the tree, the tree with the beautiful peaches. The men stopped laughing. They began looking down on the ground for stones to pick up. But it was no use. Because once Nhamo made it up at the tree he lost his balance. The leaves and the peaches weren’t the only things he saw. He fell down on the bush and started screaming and kicking, like a mad man. Two men said they saw something on his face mid-air as he fell. “Aahh!” Nhamo screamed again. He was kicking and rolling, trying to get something off his face. The men watched in silence. Seconds later the scream was gone. Nhamo no longer moved. 

“Look!” a man yelled, pointing at Nhamo’s face amidst the thickness of the grass. The men’s gaze leaned closer. They saw a green thing slide from Nhamo’s red face. They saw a tail, a sharp green tail. A day later Nhamo’s body was pulled out of the bush with a hook-rope so he could be buried.