By Randy dela Fuente | Founder | 5 min read
Have you ever thought about the real value of what we, as high-volume photographers, provide to families? Every photograph carries meaning, but when it turns out to be the last photograph taken of someone, its value becomes immeasurable.
During my 25 years of doing high-volume photography, my company created hundreds of thousands of images across the Pacific Northwest, but one story has stayed with me more than any other.
On April 29, 2010, 12-year-old Alajawan Brown was tragically killed in a case of mistaken identity as he stepped off a bus in Skyway, Washington.
He was on his way home to show his parents a pair of football cleats he had saved up $20 to buy.
Because of the clothes he was wearing, Alajawan was misidentified as a gang member who had just been in a nearby confrontation. He was shot in the back outside a 7-11 near his bus stop—a completely senseless act of violence.
A short time after his murder, Alajawan’s mother, Ayanna Brown, contacted me. I had recently photographed Alajawan in his uniform, and she asked to use that portrait for his service. We quickly produced dozens of trader cards, plaques and other keepsakes for his family and community, helping them honor his memory.
That image became the photograph his family used for his obituary, and later, it became part of his legacy.
As a photographer, moments like these remind you why what we do matters. We aren’t just creating pictures—we’re preserving stories, identities, and memories that families will hold onto forever.
I stayed in touch with Ayanna and her husband, Louis, for a while but eventually lost contact as I closed my photography business to build Snapizzi and later left Washington.
Then, 13 years after Alajawan’s passing, I received an unexpected email from Ayanna. She shared how much that photo still meant to their family and how they had used it as part of something bigger:
Founded in 2012, the Alajawan Brown Foundation, also known as Alajawan’s Hands, continues Alajawan’s spirit of kindness and service. Through school supply drives, tutoring, community feedings, sports scholarships, and peer support groups, the foundation carries forward the very things Alajawan did before his passing.
Their work is a living tribute to who Alajawan was—a young man who believed in helping others. You can learn more about his legacy here and watch this interview with Ayanna to hear the full story.
In Ayanna’s words, “You have intricately been a part of our lives and you don’t even know it.”
Alajawan’s story changed me. It showed the profound impact a single photograph can have—not just for one family, but for an entire community.
- Life is too short.
- Love what you do.
- Love your family.
- Love your kids.
- Love your friends.
- And have gratitude for everything life gives you.
Thank you, Ayanna and Louis, for turning heartbreak into hope and for reminding me—and all of us—why photography matters so deeply.
Alajawan would be so proud.
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