There is often a fuming atmosphere in this small concentrated bus terminal. When it rains the heavy waters flow into the densely populated rank. Some people have nearly drowned from the overflowing culverts while others are frustrated by motorists who splash them with water as they try to dodge potholes. It's always a saddening sight to see men forced to pull up their pants to the knees, while women hold up their dresses and skirts to cross the tiny streams and ponds that fill the rank after a downpour, as they hurry to board taxis, combis and buses to their destinations.
Furthermore, there is always the unsuspected presence of pickpocketers taking advantage of the hustle and bustle and roaming the mall on the hunt for their next unsuspecting prey. The concrete blocks used for the pavement dilapidate by the day and are often used as weapons by the ever-squabbling young hawkers who always seem ready to fight. Some of these hawkers spend most of their time smoking dagga and drinking alcohol in the nearby shebeens from the small profits of selling chicken meals.
