New York City’s notorious Rikers Island jail complex has earned a reputation for brutality, violence, and neglect in its 85 years of existence. As the second-largest facility of its kind in the U.S., Rikers’s very name — an angular switchblade of a word — has long struck fear into the hearts of those sentenced to make that long, lonely trip over the East River to the facility. There are currently about 4,100 people incarcerated in Rikers. Historically, the majority of those held at the facility have not yet been convicted of any crime; they’ve been stuck behind bars while they await trial because they’re unable to post bail — in other words, just because they’re poor.

At one point, 16-year-old Kalief Browder was one of them. The Bronx teen was held on Rikers for three years, without a trial or conviction, for allegedly stealing a backpack — a charge that was eventually dismissed. Much of that time was spent in solitary confinement, a practice that has long been condemned as torture. Shortly after Browder’s release in 2015, he died by suicide. Just last year, Layleen Polanco, a trans woman living with epilepsy, died from complications of the disease after being placed in solitary confinement.

Now, one of my favorite people in the world is in there too. Since October, David Campbell has been locked inside those forbidding walls, doing his best to survive what New York Governor Andrew Cuomo’s own lawyer, Alphonso David, has called “a savage and inhumane jail that has ruined the lives of too many New Yorkers.” As a result, I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like to visit a loved one on Rikers Island in 2020.

Following years of campaigning by prison abolitionists and other opponents of mass incarceration, the New York City Council is moving forward with an $8 billion plan to shut down Rikers for good, replacing the massive complex with smaller facilities spread throughout four of the city’s five boroughs. (Activists oppose the construction of those new jails too.) For now, with the shut-down process in its early phases and bogged down by numerous hurdles, Rikers is still standing, and those of us who have friends and family inside its walls must continue to make the arduous journey to visit them. And trust me, it’s arduous. The entire system seems set up to make visitation as difficult as possible, but I’ll explain it, step-by-step, to prepare anyone who finds themself needing to make that trip.

The first time we go visit David, my boyfriend and I leave south Brooklyn at 11:30 a.m. It’s a little after 1 p.m. by the time we get up to 21st Avenue in Queens to catch the special Q100 bus to Rikers. The sign that welcomes you to the island is a gaudy hodgepodge of patriotic symbols, and one big banner declares the prison “Home of New York City’s Boldest.” We cross the bridge, taking in a panoramic view of the city before the jail complex’s jutting walls and strands of razor wire come into view.

Once the bus stops, a corrections officer comes onboard and reads off a list of items that are considered contraband, telling us to leave any such items on the bus, no questions asked. We go into the first security building, where we are lined up on opposite sides of an invisible line and sniffed at by a hulking police dog. The atmosphere that greets us as soon as we enter the complex suggests that we — the visitors — are on thin ice too, and any wrong move would cost us. It’s nerve-racking.