Remembering Makayla “Kayla Wayla” Riley, 22, After a Fatal Birmingham Shooting

Makayla May Riley’s cousins grew up so close to her that they thought of one another as siblings. When they spoke about her after her death, they remembered the way she could make people laugh and how she showed up when someone needed help. Her mother, Lawanda Hall, remembered how much joy her daughter brought into a room. Those were the stories her family wanted people to hear after the 22-year-old was fatally shot on Wednesday, November 4, in Birmingham, Alabama.

Police were called to a home on 44th Place North in the Kingston neighborhood at about 10:48 p.m. after a report of a shooting. Riley was pronounced dead at the scene at 11:28 p.m., according to the Jefferson County Coroner’s Office. Birmingham police said their preliminary investigation indicated that an argument between Riley and the suspect preceded the shooting. Officers detained one man and took him to police headquarters for questioning.

Early reports described the man as Riley’s 23-year-old boyfriend and said he was held on a 48-hour investigative hold. No formal charges had been announced in the initial reports. Police had shared few details about the argument or the moments before the gunfire, leaving much of the sequence inside the home unclear.

To the people who grew up beside her, she was Kayla Wayla, the cousin who felt like a sister.

After the shooting, a separate account drew attention to what reportedly happened outside. A bystander’s Facebook Live recording was said to show a distressed man near the residence, speaking about having ruined his life and about the potential he believed he had. The circumstances surrounding the recording have not been independently established. The available accounts offer no clear basis for connecting the remarks to a particular action inside the home.

The video account describes a few moments after the shooting. Riley’s family, speaking to WBRC, had years of memories to draw on. Her cousin Carmelo Gurley remembered someone who paid attention when others were struggling. If a person close to her was having a hard time, he said, Riley would do what she could to help them get back on their feet. Her family also remembered her playful side, the part of her that made ordinary time together fun.

Dominique Hall, another cousin, spoke about the pain of knowing they would never get to make more memories together. The cousins had spent much of their lives close to one another, and the loss changed how Dominique thought about the years ahead. There were more occasions they might have shared and more chances to sit together and laugh about growing up. Her family’s memories now carry the weight of everything they expected to have time for.

In a separate tribute shared online, a cousin recalled seeing Riley about two weeks before the shooting and asking about her baby, unaware that Riley had already lost the pregnancy. The cousin’s account offered a glimpse of the grief Riley had been carrying in the weeks before her death. It was a personal memory of a recent visit, made more painful by how little time the family would have with her afterward.

Kayla deserved time to grieve, to laugh again, and to decide what came next for her.

The cousin also used her tribute to speak about domestic violence, urging people to take jealousy, controlling behavior, and abuse seriously. Her words were part of a relative’s response to a sudden loss. The public account of the investigation remained limited to what police had reported about the argument, the shooting, and the person detained for questioning. Authorities had yet to release a fuller account of what led to Riley’s death.

For Lawanda Hall, the immediate loss was her daughter’s presence. In her interview with WBRC, she remembered Riley laughing and talked about the joy she brought with her. Other relatives described how quickly Riley could lift the mood when she walked in. It was a familiar quality to her family, the kind they could recognize across years of visits and conversations. In the first days after her death, it was one of the things they found themselves talking about most.

Much of the public timeline can be told in two times. Officers were called around 10:48 p.m., and Riley was pronounced dead at 11:28 p.m. Between those entries are questions investigators were still working to answer. Police asked anyone with information to contact Birmingham’s homicide unit or Crime Stoppers. For someone with firsthand information, even an ordinary detail about the timing or sequence of events may help investigators piece together what happened that night.

There was also a different kind of timeline in the interviews with Riley’s relatives. They talked about growing up together, about the closeness that lasted into adulthood, and about how hard it was to imagine that there would be no more memories to add. Dominique’s recollection of their childhood and Carmelo’s description of Riley’s kindness were stories about who she had been to them across many years. They give readers a sense of why a loss that made the news on Thursday will be felt by her family long after that week.

Riley was 22, at an age when many of the decisions that shape a life are still ahead. What she might have chosen in the years to come belonged to her. Her family could picture having more time together because that is what families expect from one another, especially when someone is so young. They could have heard her tell new stories, watched her change her mind, and seen what stayed the same about the person they had known since childhood.

The future Kayla should have had was hers to imagine and hers to live.

As Birmingham police sought more information, Riley’s relatives were already doing the work of remembering her in public. They talked about the cousin they could count on and the daughter whose laugh her mother could still describe so easily. They spoke about how much they would miss her and how painful it was to know that the memories they shared now had an ending they never expected.

Her family’s account brings the story back to a young woman they knew well. Makayla May Riley was loved for her humor, her warmth, and the care she showed when someone was having a difficult day. To the cousins who grew up beside her, she was part of their childhood and someone they expected to have beside them through adulthood, too. They called her Kayla Wayla, and when they say they will miss her, those are the years they are talking about.