Charlie’s playfulness seemed overshadowed by a solemn, quiet presence and very little sound. He did not vocalise during the first few sessions and held little eye contact. It was almost as though he was not trying to reach out to others and to the world: perhaps perceiving it as dangerous and uncertain. I wondered at the time whether this was because his early attempts to engage were not heard, responded to, or validated, and he had given up trying. The small movements, taking up a small space in the room, the later emergence of small (soft) sounds - did he feel small… unimportant? It was as though he was trying not to be noticed, as though he was not able to trust his surroundings. Not unusual, if one refers to the writings of attachment theory researchers like Benoit (2004), Bowlby (1988), and van der Kolk (2003) who consider that infants learn to trust or distrust the world around them based on their early relationship experiences. Perhaps Charlie’s first experiences were of an isolated and unsafe nature, causing him to withdraw. Also, removed from his family and daily life under the bridge into this new place must have caused much confusion and contributed to unsafe feelings of rejection and distrust. The role of music therapy here was to help Charlie in developing an intimate and trusting relationship with me as a safe base, through inviting him to engage in non-threatening music play.

I offered Charlie many opportunities to explore and expand his sense of self and others, as well as provide a safe space for him to experience being in a relationship with another. The predictability of the weekly sessions, the familiarity of the hello and goodbye songs, and even the regular presence of that red drum contributed to the safety of the music therapy space, which I felt was imperative amidst the uncertainty of his recent history. Over the next few weeks, although still very quiet and small at times, Charlie’s engagement in musical play became more interactive and mutual. His playfulness began to emerge.

We played that little red drum very loudly and our music reverberated and radiated down the passage. I think Charlie was trying to ensure that everyone could hear his drumming! Through attuning to his presence and loudness, he understood that I was listening and responding to him, and through doing that, validating him. The containing and attuning musical space allowed Charlie to feel heard; to experience himself and his musical contributions as accepted and validated - perhaps in contrast to the early relational experiences. In this safe space, he started taking initiative and even ‘conducted’ our music, laughing and watching my responses. It gave him a space to reconnect with his playfulness and draw out the healthy “music child” ⁴ that, even though it has been subdued in the midst of his traumatic past, remained intact. We made up funny games and engaged in little musical conversations on the instruments, which extended in soft vocal play from whispers to audible sounds. This also provided a sense of mastery and pleasure, which van der Kolk (2003) deemed to be vital to the treatment of children who’ve experienced trauma. Towards the end of the therapy process, Charlie started verbalising, saying “bye bye” to me after sessions, which I interpreted as indicative of his growth in confidence, sense of self and the development of our trusting relationship.

This confidence and communication through sounds and sometimes words, transitioned beyond the music therapy sessions. One staff member told me that she had noticed him being more confident when, at a fête held at the POS, Charlie had bravely put up his hand to have a turn on the proffered Djembe brought by a volunteer and proceeded to play it with an air of self-assurance. The staff clapped and cheered his efforts. She continued saying that he had surprised her by doing that and that she was so proud of him. There was a definite and noticeable shift in Charlie’s communication and playfulness in and out of the music therapy space.

Five months after our first music therapy session, the time came for Charlie to be discharged into foster care as a suitable foster parent had been identified. I felt that music therapy could play a valuable role in supporting his move to his new home. Following discussions with the POS child care manager, arrangements were made for me to do a home visit with Charlie at his new foster home to support his transition – the music, the instruments, and I could be recognisable, safe, and known things in this new environment. Also, it was hoped that music could be the catalyst for developing Charlie’s relationship with his new foster parent and the other children in her care.

I travelled to Delft ⁵ to visit Charlie the following week. I had not been to Delft before and driving through the community, viewing it through my middle class background, I was struck by the level of poverty that was evident even though it’s been 25 years since the end of Apartheid. My privileged background means that I have not had to live without food or basic amenities, unlike many families in communities such as Delft. There was no grass on the verges and only dusty sand surrounded the tiny, pastel coloured houses erected by the government post 1994 ⁶ . The skyline was scattered with hundreds of tall electricity poles with many black wires running from them to the small houses. Electricity was only introduced to that community in recent years, and many families who cannot afford to pay for it, dangerously hook up their own lines to bring life to their appliances. Oddly enough, the effect was that of a maypole dance pole with its ribbons flowing out. Makeshift wooden fences arbitrarily demarcate properties. Several streets were nameless and numbers on houses were sporadic and often hidden by heavy laden washing lines and Wendy houses. Delft, and many marginalised communities are home to people called back yard dwellers: people and families who erect small wooden extensions, innocuously named Wendy houses, in the back or front yards of other brick houses. Driving through the narrow, sandy and nameless streets, I found Charlie’s new home: a small brick house surrounded by a wooden makeshift fence and with a sandy path to the front door. There was no movement in and around the house. I felt slightly apprehensive about meeting this new foster parent and what she might think or feel about my presence in her house. I was unsure of what to expect. I wondered whether these feelings were reflective of what Charlie may have felt, as he drove for the first time to his new house. Added to this, perhaps his foster mother would have been nervous receiving her new charge and uncertain of what to expect from my visit; this complicated by the cultural, societal and economical gap between us and her perception of me as a white, middle class woman.

Mrs. Brent* came out to greet me. She seemed a little nervous but she warmly welcomed me into her lounge and disappeared into another room to call Charlie. Left alone, I unpacked some instruments, got out my guitar, sat on the edge of the beige couch and waited. When he emerged through the door of the lounge and saw me, he smiled and immediately ran towards the red drum, which had been his favourite instrument during our music therapy sessions. The guitar, the red drum and I seemed to be a welcome and familiar sight.

Charlie seemed delighted to share me and his music with his new family. He seemed proud to show his drumming skills and to be able to play music. Through sharing the music with the other children and offering them turns to play, each one was able to contribute their voice - bring something special to the music - and be validated for their musical contributions.

What a lovely way to introduce Charlie to this new space. Modelling to his new younger foster brother how to play the instrument, Charlie was flexing his leadership muscles. It was also a meaningful opportunity for Charlie to bring and share something of his experiences and life to the new family. It showed his willingness to share his music with the others and his kindness of his proffered help to the younger boy.

Again, Charlie was sharing something of who he is with his new foster family, opening the door for helping each other as they all negotiate the new family unit. Each child could experience themselves as important contributors to the music and sound and experience acceptance and validation in response – possibly in contrast to previous life experiences which led to their inclusion in the foster care system. There were lots of smiles, laughter, and amusement as Mrs. Brent and the children in her care interacted playfully with each other. It felt like an enjoyable, relaxed, playful, and uniting experience for the whole group. In this musical space, even the littlest child (2-years-old) was offered, and accepted a chance to lead the activity and make choices. It is through play that we acquire a sense of subjectivity and agency in our world; we experience ourselves and each other in play and “playing implies trust” (Winnicott, 1971, p. 51). Music therapy afforded Mrs. Brent the opportunity to witness the playfulness of the children in her care, and the children could experience her and each other as playful and engaged. Through being part of this creative music therapy space, Charlie may have begun to understand how he could fit into and be accepted into this new space of Mrs. Brent’s home. Perhaps, in playing music together, the possibility of fostering a trusting, attachment relationship could be realised.

We sang a special, final goodbye to everyone and I left with Mrs. Brent and all the children hanging over the wooden fence waving and yelling goodbye to me. This seemed quite a contrast to the quiet apprehension when I arrived. The energy and excitement was contagious.