It was her eyes that immediately drew my attention. Big, wide, brown eyes.
I was ready to introduce myself to my photojournalism class at Bakersfield College in the fall of 2016 when the young lady approached. "Mr. Harte? My name is Hannah, and I want to let you know that I have autism."
Not a problem, I told her. You're going to have fun in this class. What I didn't know in that moment was that I was speaking with a student who was going to become one of the most remarkable photography students I've seen in my 26-year career as an instructor at the college, a generational photography talent among the very best to emerge from Bakersfield College.
Sadly, I am introducing you to Hannah Douma posthumously. Hannah's emerging and promising career was cut short after a four-year battle with cancer, and she passed away at 28 years old last weekend, leaving behind family, friends, BC faculty and former classmates who truly loved this sweet, polite young lady with a photographic skill set and remarkable vision that had her headed, I believe, toward photographic greatness.
If you will kindly indulge me, let me tell you about Hannah.
Hannah came to Bakersfield College with an interest in photography a couple of years after graduating from East Bakersfield High School. She took my photojournalism class first, then began classes in the art department.
Her parents, Stephanie and John Branco, told me that Hannah's autism primarily manifested itself in a hesitance to engage with people in social situations. I never saw it in my class, where she was very comfortable. But her classmate, Lizette Chavez, spotted it in Kristopher Stallworth's black and white photography class in 2018. Chavez would notice Hannah sitting by herself and not engaging with others. On the occasions they would make eye contact, Hannah would smile, but nothing else.
Chavez and others were forming friendships. She decided to approach Hannah and strike up a conversation. They found a commonality — a love of Harry Potter — that they could talk about.
Gradually, Chavez and some others began to form an informal photography group. Hannah would join in, friendships were formed, and Hannah became instantly loved.
Hannah was enrolled in an art class when she was diagnosed with malignant thymoma, a cancer of the thymus gland, in March 2019. "Chemotherapy damaged her DNA, which presented as bone marrow cancer, which then morphed into acute myeloid leukemia," Hannah's mom said. She withdrew from BC to begin treatment. Hannah would spend weekslong stints in the hospital, and would not return to Bakersfield College.
But the group of seven photography-loving friends stayed together, and it was through their interactions that Hannah's photography skills flourished, even as she fought her illness.
Meeting regularly, they shared photos, challenged and encouraged each other to make better photos. And through it, Hannah made some of her best photos during the four years that she fought for her life.
As I prepared this story, I wanted to ensure that my assessment of Hannah's photography skills was not being clouded by my admiration for her, so I asked three of Bakersfield College's most accomplished photographers to comment on her work.
Max Becherer, a BC graduate who is national photo editor of The Washington Post, said, "In Hannah's images I saw a person who was present, taking in the details of the world at a personal level. She demonstrates an emotional understanding in her use of color and a fascination with the world around her."
Former Californian photographer Felix Adamo said, "It is obvious that she had a natural eye for photography. Whether it was a couple's interlocked hands forming a heart, autumn leaves in a fountain or even a self-portrait, Hannah's framing of her photographs stand out. I can see why everyone loves her photographs."
And Lexey Swall, co-founder of GRAIN, a photography collective focused on visual storytelling based in Washington, D.C., said, "Hannah's photography, particularly her nature photography, has a way of bringing forward the magic that exists in our world — the things that connect us if we take the time to slow down and pay attention. You can almost feel her curiosity and wonder."
On April 12, Hannah posted on Facebook that she had been told she was terminal. I spoke with her, and learned that she was on palliative care and was no longer being treated, but sometimes requiring blood.
I joined her friends for a visit to Hannah, but also wanted to do something for her. But what? I wanted to do something special. Then it hit me. Blood. Give blood in Hannah's honor. There was a problem, however. I had never given blood before, because it was the biggest fear I held.
It makes no sense. It's completely irrational. But it terrified me.
The thought of sitting in a chair, having a needle stuck in my arm and having blood drawn, that paralyzed me with fear. On Friday, April 14, I decided to give it a try. I went to Houchin Blood Bank in northeast Bakersfield, but I was so frightened they couldn't get my heart rate into their acceptable range. I was sent home and urged to try again the next day.
I went back the following day, this time accompanied by my friend Jennifer Scott, who helped keep me calm. It worked. The blood was drawn, and guess what? It was a breeze. Completely painless. Hannah was amused by the whole saga. The "HaHa," smiley face and heart emojis flowed as we messaged each other.
Hannah could really make me laugh. When I told her that my teaching had changed a bit, that I was now emphasizing smartphone photography, Hannah was mortified! She was a serious DSLR photographer, and a Nikon girl at that. The thought of doing photography on smartphones was sacrilege, and she let me hear it. Lizette Chavez joked that it's a good thing Hannah didn't disown me.
Hannah passed on May 6, after two very difficult days. A young life gone way too soon. An emerging talent the likes of which I haven't seen in my teaching at BC.
Hannah has inspired me in ways I may not yet know, but a few I do. I know she has made me a better teacher and person. I was struggling to find the words to tell you how, but my friend Jeff Jennings found them. "Your teaching and interaction has allowed you very special access to alter your life experience. You have had a journey from photographing and reporting news events to connecting and walking with people, understanding them, getting to know them. That is a very special gift and experience that many of us will not have."
Hannah's loss has also led me to revisit my long-abandoned faith. You don't take a young woman like this, so full of wonder and talent, so sweet and loving, unless you have a special purpose for her. There must be a reason.