Taziakhana Reborn: A Sacred Space Breathes Again in Zanzibar

Our Ref:  AFED/PR/048/2025                                              Date:  16th June 2025

In the heart of Zanzibar’s Stone Town, the Husseini Taziakhana has stood as a sacred echo chamber of grief, resistance, and memory. For decades, this hall was more than a space—it was a sanctuary where devotion was not performed but lived. Then it fell silent. Shuttered, forgotten by some, but never by those whose hearts once beat in sync with their solemn rhythms. 

Today, after 58 long years, the silence has been broken. 

It began in 1912. Alhaj Kassamali Dharsee, famously known as Bha Kassamali - a man of remarkable vision and spiritual commitment - acquired a block of buildings in bustling Stone Town. With foresight beyond his time, he designated the upper floor for Mehfile Abbas (AS), a space for majalis and mourning. The ground floor was leased to an Ivory trader whose rent helped fund religious activities. 

As Zanzibar’s commercial landscape shifted and ivory trade declined, the godowns lost their luster. But one space found new purpose—it became the Husseini Taziakhana of Zanzibar. A place where Karbala was not merely remembered—it was relieved, line by line, tear by tear.

When Bha Kassamali passed on—with no children to inherit his trust—the responsibility fell to his nephew, Hussein Mohammed Valli Dharsee, fondly known across the island as Hussein Tazia. The name itself became a symbol of unwavering association. 

For over 50 years, Hussein Tazia tended the space with great devotion. He opened its doors every single day—whether the hall was filled with fifty mourners or only two. In every majlis, he led the recitation of nohas and marsiyas, keeping alive the sacred pulse of Azadari. 

To the Khoja Shia Ithna-Asheri community of Zanzibar, Azadari was not just ritual—it was identity. From narrow alleys echoing with lamentations to courtyards lit with flickering lamps and verses, generations were shaped in the shadows of the Taziakhana. Children became mourners. Youth became reciters. Women held majalis with unflinching resolve. Elders became symbols of memory, reciting verses passed down like sacred heirlooms.

And from this sacred soil, a diaspora bloomed—zakirs, organizers, and spiritual leaders—who would carry the flame of Zanzibar’s Azadari to Toronto, Dar es Salaam, Leicester, and Orlando. 

Then came a night forever etched in pain. 

On the eve of the 13th of Jumada al-Awwal in 1964—a night that marked the wafat of Bibi Fatema (SA) tragedy struck. The Tazia Hall was alive with the sound of masaeb, tears flowing in remembrance of the beloved daughter of the Prophet (SAWW). As the majlis reached its emotional crescendo, a member of Zanzibar’s Revolutionary Council, Mohammed Abdulla, alias Kajijore, burst into the hall with armed men. 

Chaos erupted. And in an act of unthinkable violence, five innocent lives were taken: 

• ⁠Sayed Abdullah Mutalib Sayed Hashem 

• ⁠Sayed Ali Asgher Sayed Hussein 

• ⁠Haji Abdul Hussein Remtullah 

• ⁠Gulamabbas Kassamali

• ⁠Haji Mohamad Asar 

Hussein Tazia himself was shot—once in the leg, once in the forehead. Miraculously, he survived. 

Sadly, the sacred space was sealed overnight. The Taziakhana later continued its routine with small attendance as the population of the community dwindled after the Zanzibar revolution in 1964. 

Yet sacred spaces, like sacred memories, do not die. They wait. In December 2024, the Jaffer Family Foundation stepped forward—not as mere benefactors, but as children of this legacy. 

Mohamed Taki Jaffer, the Chairman of the foundation took painstaking care to restore the Taziakhana to its former glory. The goal was not modern aesthetics—but ancestral authenticity. Every creak in the wood was honored. Every whisper in the walls preserved.

“This was never about just renovation,” Taki Jaffer explained. “It was about reviving a sacred pulse. About giving future generations, a bridge to walk across time.”

Today, the Husseini Taziakhana is once again open. As a house of mourning of Shohada of Karbala and the Masumeen (AS), but also as a memorial, and a movement. It holds relics of faith, records of pain, and a reverence that transcends generations. The voice of Husain (AS) resounds again beneath its rafters—steady and eternal.

As Sadique Jaffer Vice President of JFF reflected: “As a family, we feel blessed to have been of service in restoring this sacred legacy—not just for our community today, but for generations yet to come.”

Secretariat