By Jamie Landers and Julia James
This story is part of The Dallas Morning News’ homicide project focused on sharing the stories of people killed in Dallas in 2024.
The pastor wanted to make one thing clear: This was not going to be a traditional funeral, because what brought this solemn crowd to an Oak Cliff chapel was not God’s will.
God believes people are to have hope and a future, the Rev. David Diggles said, things that were taken from Amaya and Jalisa Lockett when they were shot on May 18 in the Old East Dallas apartment the sisters shared. Amaya was 24. Jalisa was 22.
“These two precious young women were taken from us way too soon, victims of a tragic and senseless act of violence,” Diggles said in his eulogy. “They wanted to finish college. Each of them had a child who will now grow up without their mothers. They had friends, family and parents who cherished them.”
Police have said the alleged gunman, Saadiq Shabazz, was Jalisa’s boyfriend. In an arrest-warrant affidavit, an officer wrote that Shabazz said he fired out of “rage” — that he didn’t mean to kill them, but couldn’t take those bullets back.
On June 4, more than 100 people came to Laurel Land Funeral Home to mourn the futures that decision destroyed. Nearly all of them donned something purple: dresses, ties, bows, bracelets and safety-pinned ribbons that read “forever in our hearts,” tangible reminders of what Diggles called “the harsh reality” of domestic violence.
“This isn’t something that’s happening far away,” he said. “This is happening in our community. This is happening in our homes.
“Amaya and Jalisa’s lives were taken by this evil, and it’s a wake-up call for all of us.”
Bouquets of pink and white roses surrounded their caskets, each with a “mom” emblem displayed inside. Slideshows of photos from nearly every phase of their lives played above them: the sisters clinging to one another on a blue moped, cuddling teddy bears, riding horses, posing on vacation.
Two black hearses took their bodies from the funeral home down a winding road through the cemetery, where their parents, Alicia Singleton and Jaunci Lockett, and their children, 2-year-old Destiny and 10-month-old Elijah, watched as they were buried one by one in a shared grave.
“I can’t think of a day I haven’t talked to them 3 or 4 times a day — each of them,” Singleton said. “I’m waiting for my phone to ring.”
Sisters who balanced each other out
Amaya was an introvert, avid gamer, artist and a lover of anime and music. She had such a soft spot for animals that she wouldn’t even kill bugs, instead taking the time to catch and release them outside.
Still, Singleton explained, Amaya had an adventurous spirit. She was just starting to find her voice and stand up for herself.
“She used to always say ‘Mom, I’m not as brave as you,’ ” but Singleton said she always assured Amaya that wasn’t the case. “She was always brave.”
Amaya was also a student at Tarrant County College, where she was working toward a real estate license.
Jalisa was fiery, independent and a true social butterfly, Singleton said.
She loved fashion, singing, filming TikTok videos and making treats like banana bread and molded chocolates. She was a student at Columbia College, and was pursuing a degree in business management and entrepreneurship.
Singleton said like her sister, Jalisa had a big heart, and at times, struggled with pouring too much of it into other people.
“I would tell her all the time, ‘You can help people but you can’t help everybody,’ ” she said. “People have to want to help themselves.”
‘Unimaginable’
Amaya and Jalisa were making plans for their future, their father, Jaunci Lockett, recalled. They had just signed up for parenting classes and were moving into separate apartments when their lease expired at the end of May.
“It’s just not real,” he said.
As grandparents, Lockett and Singleton have always been involved in Elijah and Destiny’s lives. Lockett said he has found himself missing the routine of taking his grandkids to and from day care, giving him a chance to see and check in on his daughters, too.
In the weeks since the shooting, Elijah has been living with his father’s family, while Lockett and Singleton have been caring for Destiny.
“It’s a double-edged sword,” Singleton said. “I’m grateful that we’re here to do that and we have the means to do that, [but] it sucks and it’s terrible, because they should have their moms.”
Lockett and Singleton, both veterans, said they raised Amaya and Jalisa to be aware of the precarity of guns. To have lost both of them to an act of gun violence, to witness the way it has and will continue to shape generations of their family, is “unimaginable,” Singleton said.
“It still feels like an out-of-body experience — and I’ve been to actual war,” she said. “It’s my worst nightmare, honestly.”
This story, originally published in The Dallas Morning News, is reprinted as part of a collaborative partnership between The Dallas Morning News and Texas Metro News. The partnership seeks to boost coverage of Dallas’ communities of color, particularly in southern Dallas.
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