Jawad Anani

Two weeks ago, I received an invitation from Mr. Sami Al-Dawoud to visit the Jordan Post Company in the area of Muqablain, Amman. His Excellency was eager for me to witness firsthand the strides that have been made there.

This quick excursion stirred a cascade of memories, stretching back to my days in grade school when stamps were not just collectibles but everyday necessities. Nostalgia swept over me as I gazed at the small, colorful rectangles that chronicled the nation’s leaders, pivotal events, and historic achievements. Most Jordanian stamps celebrate the glory of our past and present, a testament to a country that has always found ways to preserve its identity and honor its journey.

For the generations who lived through the 1950s and 1960s, history was a constant companion. These were decades of seismic change, marked by wars in 1948, 1956, 1967, and 1973, and an endless stream of coups—both successful and foiled—in neighboring countries like Syria, Egypt, Iraq, Sudan, and Yemen. The assassinations of leaders left indelible marks on our collective memory. The early days of radio introduced us to faraway figures who shaped the world: Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Khrushchev, Schmidt, de Gaulle, Pompidou, Mitterrand, and many others. From the Arab world, there were towering leaders like Nasser and Naguib from Egypt, Al-Za’im and Al-Quwatli from Syria, King Abdulaziz and King Faisal from Saudi Arabia, and Khouri and Chamoun from Lebanon. From Africa, we learned of leaders like Kenyatta, Nyerere, Bourguiba, Ben Bella, and King Mohammed V of Morocco, whose stories resonated across continents. It felt as if history was being written and rewritten before our eyes, not by the decade but by the day.

In those days before television’s dominance, radio broadcasters and print journalists were revered almost as demi-gods, weaving tales of distant lands and charismatic leaders. They fired our imaginations and filled our days with wonder. Yet, with time, many of these once-revered figures revealed themselves to be flawed demagogues or cynical manipulators of their people.

Jordan, however, has given us leaders who stand as enduring symbols of integrity and vision. King Abdullah I, the founder and architect of this nation; King Talal, the Constitutionalist who laid the groundwork for governance; King Hussein, the Builder who guided Jordan through turbulent times; and now King Abdullah II, the Augmentor, who continues to lead with steadfast determination. Across the reigns of these four kings, Jordan has witnessed over 100 governments, led by just 44 individuals, many of whom I was privileged to know as neighbors in Jabal Amman. Their terms in public office during the 1950s and 1960s were often brief but grew more stable in the decades that followed.

The visit also brought back memories of a simpler Jordan, one that now feels like another world—the primus stoves we cooked on, the lux lamps we studied under, the nacet blades our fathers shaved with. These were not just tools but markers of an era when life was steeped in simplicity and resilience, when even the smallest items carried a weight of meaning.

I also remembered the way we interacted with our parents and teachers, eager to please yet equally eager to hide our missteps. There was a delicate dance between mischief and reverence, a longing to avoid punishment while chasing even the faintest glimmer of approval.

As I bid farewell to the Jordan Post Company, I felt as though I had stepped out of a dream. Yet this journey left me grounded, more deeply appreciative of my country and its people. What appear to be mere stamps—small squares of printed paper—suddenly transform into vivid artifacts, breathing life into our collective past. I firmly believe that every school should require its students to visit the Jordan Post Office, to trace Jordan’s historical tapestry and see, firsthand, the remarkable journey of our people and our land.

Stamps may seem like relics of a bygone era, objects whose purpose has faded with the march of time. Yet their magic endures—a quiet, indelible force that connects generations. Within their intricate designs lie whispers of history, echoes of struggles, and glimpses of triumphs. Though our children, and their children after them, may never find practical use for stamps, they will still discover within them something timeless: a spark of curiosity, a touch of wonder, a fleeting glimpse of who we were.

For me, the magic of stamps will never fade. They are not just fragments of paper; they are fragments of time, holding in their silence the weight of history, the beauty of memory, and the promise that some stories, no matter how small, will live forever.