Samourai Wallet developer Keonne Rodriguez recounts a 29-day prison transfer

Samourai Wallet

Letter #8: Notes From the Inside

Samourai Wallet developer Keonne Rodriguez recounts a 29-day prison transfer: 13 days in Oklahoma City’s lockdown transit hub, 18 days caged 23 hours a day at USP Lewisburg, where he learns his grandmother has died.

by Keonne Rodriguez

Updated

October 27, 2026

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Despite the harsh glow of the fluorescent light and the half-mattress I had been provided to sleep on I slept fairly well all things considered - most probably due to sheer exhaustion rather than restful comfort - that first night locked in a cell in Oklahoma.

I arose around 4:30AM which is around the time I had been waking up for the 6 months prior at Morgantown. The big difference of course is at Morgantown I wasn't locked in a cell, I could make myself a cup of coffee, watch the morning news, and enjoy a few hours of solitude before the sun rose.

By contrast in Oklahoma I laid quietly on the top bunk half on bare metal desperately needing to pee, but not wanting to wake my cell mate Shadow up with the sounds of the toilet. This was a whole different kind of prison experience and a whole different way of doing time, and one I frankly was wholly unprepared for.

I laid with my thoughts for an hour and a half until the sound of metal locks clanging and heavy metal doors swinging open alerted me to the fact that we were being let out of the cells. The position of our cell on the top floor tucked in the far corner near the showers meant it was one of the last to be unlocked by the officer. I climbed off the bunk, relieved myself, splashed water on my face, and walked out of the cell onto the balcony to overlook the bottom floor of the range.

Below me was a long serpentine queue of dour looking men winding its way through the middle and down the sides of the oddly shaped room. I had wondered how meal times would work here. Would we be led in a procession to some other cafeteria style room three times a day?

I had my answer now of course, a big meal cart filled to the brim with plastic trays would be rolled into the range and all 100+ men shuffled forward one by one in ill fitting drab brown clothes. Our name and number would be robotically stated, 'Rodriguez 11404-511' and in return a sad brown tray would be shoved into our waiting hands, 'Enjoy your potato comrade'.

It was all very Soviet feeling. On the sidelines - though never to be side-lined - were the deuce dealers hard at work making side deals with the addicts jonesing for their morning fix . 'Deuce for trays!' they would furtively announce as you made your way through the tray queue.

One of course has to wonder at how little they value their product to give it away in exchange for some stale cereal and an alarmingly brown banana. No drinking cups were provided nor were any drinking water fountains, so I drank water from a lukewarm tap by cupping my hands and bringing them up to my mouth. This truly was the jungle.

Tray in hand I searched for a place to sit and eat. Most of the inmates here were coming from or going to the US Penitentiary - high security facilities - as such a very defined "car" system was innately followed. In prison a "car" refers to a group of people usually defined by race, but also sometimes by geographic location, that congregate together.

In Oklahoma, because it is a transit facility, car membership is naturally quite short lived and fleeting, but exists nonetheless. Returning to my breakfast tray I noticed several dining tables surrounding the inner perimeter of the triangular room. Each table was segregated by race: there was a black table, a Hispanic table, a white table, and a native table.

Having no interest in playing prison politics I quite happily decided to take my tray up the stairs to my cell where I could eat in peace. Shadow was holding court at the native table. I learnt later that Shadow is what is called a Chief - or a leader - of the native car so most of his time was spent outside of the cell playing the role of a politico. With breakfast concluded my next course of business was getting onto a phone to call my wife Lauren.

At around 6:30AM - the precise time impossible to tell as there is not a single clock to be found - I joined the alarmingly growing queue for the four telephones. Almost immediately after I joined a disheveled deuce head in bright orange Crocs appeared seemingly out of the ether and asked no one in particular 'Who's last?'.

Taking this odd question as the inane ramblings of a drug fueled maniac I did what any red blooded American who has spent any time in an urban setting of any kind would do, I stared straight ahead steely eyed and ignored him.

'Yo!' he barked staring straight at me now, 'Who's last?' he again demanded. 'I guess I am' I told him as I looked behind me at the empty space as if to say 'obviously you moron'. Satisfied by my response he followed up with 'Aight! I'm after YOU!' pointing a crooked finger directly at me so that there could be no mistake as to he was speaking to. He clearly didn't think I was quite the ticket.

I wondered to myself why he told me that he was after me. Am I supposed to be responsible for keeping track as to the make up and positioning of all persons in queue? Whilst considering these questions another man came up and performed the phone ritual of asking no one in particular "Who's last?".

Of course this time I was ready. I turned around to point at Mr. Orange Crocs but he was nowhere to be found. Where the hell did this infernal dog get to? As I scanned the large room I found the orange crocs I was looking for - I think so anyway, all orange crocs look the same - pointed to the man now standing in a corner hunched over swaying as if a wilted flower in a light breeze, 'he's last' I told the newcomer who immediately responded 'Aight, cool, I'm after him' as he walked off.

How I became keeper of the phone queue I have no idea, but clearly the concept of simply joining a queue and waiting patiently for their turn had never crossed the minds of any of these people. After a considerable amount of time it was my turn to use the phone.

I immediately discarded the order of the phone queue and who was after whom with some inner joy at the thought of the total pandemonium that would likely result and made my way to make the call I had been waiting for.

The phone call was a disaster. After waiting somewhere between 2 hours and 2 centuries - it was hard to tell - the receiver barely worked. Lauren could hardly hear me and I could hardly make out what she was saying to me - which turned out to be some variation of 'huh?.. I can't hear you... what did you say?" - but at the very least she knew I had arrived in Oklahoma in one piece, physically at least.

Much like the dining tables, the three TV rooms are segregated by race. The whites had a room usually with FOX News or SportsCenter playing; the blacks had a room usually with MTV's Ridiculousness or some hip-hop music video channel playing; and the Hispanics shared a room with the Natives with Telemundo or Univision playing.

I am not Hispanic enough - despite the name - to sit in their room comfortably and I am not white enough - because of the name - to sit in their room, and in any case I was not at all interested in dealing with the inevitable conflict that arises in prison TV rooms. Finding something to occupy my time was of the upmost importance which is what ultimately led me to the creaking dusty book-cart standing lonely in a corner filled with trashy - and trashed - books that had seen much better days.

The vast majority of books on offer were of the western or romance variety - oftentimes both at the same time - neither of which are really my preferred genre but beggars cannot be choosers or so the saying goes, they would have to do.

I quickly learnt that the pages of books makes the ideal conduit for the poisonous chemicals that make up deuce, very many pages of these books are missing or torn up beyond repair. Upon subsequent perusals of the saddest library known to man I made sure to double check that my selections were the complete article as to avoid the awkward situation of not knowing the outcome of Santana's attempts to seduce that buxom vixen Brooke.

At 10:00AM we would be recalled back to the cell where the officer on duty would manually walk along and lock us in the cell. At 11:00AM the same officer would walk along and unlock the same cells so we could begin queueing for lunch.

After lunch we were allowed to remain outside of the cell to occupy our time as we pleased. Some played cards, some watched TV, some endlessly paced the halls back and forth.

For my part I thought I might try another phone call but after waiting for two hours - waiting, it must be explained, behind drug addicts calling home to badger their loved ones to send a drug dealer they just met $5.00 via Cashapp, and then that same drug dealer standing by to call his people to confirm receipt of said $5.00 - only to be greeted by the crackling hiss of a phone line and more cries of 'huh? what did you say?' that I decided the phones were a lost cause.

At around 3:00PM we again would be recalled to the cells where the officer would again lock us individually. This time we were to wait for the 4:00PM stand-up count where assuming the count went off without a hitch - a wild assumption apparently judging by the number of recounts I was subjected to, thought perhaps not surprising considering there are 100 of us and only 20 fingers between the two counting officers - we would again be let out of our cells around 4:45PM for the dinner meal.

At 9:00PM we were recalled for the final time of the day, locked in individually , counted again at 10:00PM, and then free to try and fall asleep under the bright glare of a fluorescent light, before doing it all again the next day. The only variation to the mundane routine was to be roused out of sleep at 3:00AM by a shouting officer informing you to be ready to leave in an hour. We all hoped that 3:00AM wake up would happen, we all couldn't wait to put Oklahoma behind us.

For nearly two weeks I woke up daily at 5:00AM crushed with the disappointment that I would be spending at least another day in Oklahoma City.

During the 13 days at FTC Oklahoma City I fell into an uneasy routine. I would forgo breakfast to secure a prime position in the queue for the world's worst telephone so I may yell at my wife with the faint hope she would hear me, or at the very least know I was still in Oklahoma and still alive.

I would then prowl the hallways and scavenge the cells of the lucky souls who had been taken during the early hours. During these morning foraging missions I managed to secure better books that had been jealously hoarded by the previous occupants.

Taking my haul back to my cell I would climb into bed - the half mattress was soon replaced with a better full sized variant on one of these foraging missions, and I am happy to report that the half mattress was soon turned into a quarter mattress and its stuffing used to make a pillow - and read for the rest of the day.

Besides my morning outing, the collection of lunch and dinner trays, and a daily shower, I spent the entirety of the day consuming books. I read anything I could get my hands on, easily digesting 2 to 4 books every day. Eventually Shadow was woken up at 3:00AM with the welcome news that he was to be leaving.

I was sad to see him go because he was a great cell mate seeing as he never really said much and was more often than not outside of the cell due to his political responsibilities as Chief of the Natives.

You are not allowed to have a cell to yourself in Oklahoma so very soon after Shadow left I found myself with a new cellmate. Sandman like Shadow was a native, but where Shadow was a Chief, Sandman could not be l