Welcome to Piquiucho: An afternoon in the heart of Ecuadorian football

"Who's the best player?" I ask the group of kids.

The one in the green shirt puts up his hand and replies enthusiastically: "Me. Me and these two guys." He points to two of his friends. As we walk towards the pitch, it becomes more and more apparent he's the squad's ringleader.

It's a Saturday afternoon in March and I'm on my way to Mira, Ecuador, a town known as the "Balcony of the Andes" where my grandparents were born and where some of my relatives still reside. Joining me are two uncles, an aunt, and my friend Fil, who is taking a few weeks off from his life in Toronto to backpack through South America with me.

Before we arrive in Mira, we pull over in Piquiucho, a shanty town about 15 minutes away from Mira that's rich in culture but incredibly poor in standard of living. A forgotten corner of civilisation nestled in the Chota Valley, it's home to about 700 villagers, most of whom are Afro-Ecuadorian and the descendants of slaves. You won't find Piquiucho on any map, but the place is famous for producing Ecuador's best football players.

In fact, there are more international footballers born per square kilometre in the Chota Valley than anywhere else on the planet.

Only about seven percent of Ecuador's population is Afro-Ecuadorian, but, when Ecuador's national team qualified for the World Cup for the first time in the country's history - the 2002 World Cup - eight of the squad's 23 players were from the Chota Valley, which translates to almost 35 percent of the team. Not only that, but its best players were from the valley, including Ulises de la Cruz, who was born in Piquiucho.

Prior to the 2002 World Cup, Ecuador's diversity hadn't been reflected in its national team as a consequence of the geographical and racial divisions that exist in the country. Players from the Chota Valley simply weren't selected. But that all changed with the arrival of Dusan Draskovic, a Yugoslavian visionary who was appointed as La Tricolor's manager in 1988 and who saw Ecuador's diversity as an untapped resource. He went in search of the country's best players, driving from pueblo to pueblo while breaking down racial barriers.

"Before achieving the first qualification for the World Cup, we were negros," De la Cruz famously said. "But, once it was achieved, we were negritos. The negritos from Chota."

Our arrival in Piquiucho is a disruption to the town's everyday life. A crowd of its older residents are gathered at a yellow church with beautiful wooden doors, and, upon noticing us, they bring whatever they're doing to a standstill and walk up the cobblestone street. One by one, they introduce themselves, shaking our hands with a smile that reveals the pride they take in their village. I could get used to welcomes like that.

The afternoon in Piquiucho also starts with a bang. Literally.

"The locals were in the process of firing off homemade fireworks and invited us to watch," Fil details. "We immediately drew a crowd of local children who bombarded us with questions about anything and everything. They invited us to play soccer and, of course, we accepted."

After one of the fireworks nearly kills a bird, we follow the kids to Escuela San Gabriel, the school where the pitch is located. The entrance is locked, but no matter. Within seconds, a few of them hop the fence and unlock it from the inside. I laugh at the pointlessness of the lock and walk in, where the Andes mountains serve as a surreal backdrop to a concrete pitch.

The kid in the green shirt assumes control, dividing us up into two teams and explaining that the losers will be buying colas for everybody. He assigns Fil and I to one team and himself to the other, making me suspect that he doesn't think much of our footballing abilities.

It takes one minute for the kids to live up to the Chota Valley's reputation. I go in for a half-hearted tackle, and next thing I know I've been left for dead by a give-and-go and the ball is in my team's net. Some of them are celebrating while I try and come to terms with what just happened, calculating the cost of the colas I'll inevitably be buying.

From there, their raw talent only becomes more exemplified. Their technical ability is what most adults aspire to, and their understanding of the game is mature beyond their years. Even the goalkeeper, a kid decked out in orange who's too cool for gloves, shows undeniable promise. It doesn't seem like a stretch to assume that one of them will go on to play professionally.

"I'm not a soccer expert but these kids were phenomenal," Fil recalls. "They were probably between five and 12 years old and were taking it easy on a pair of 25-year-olds. The only other kids I've seen play have been in Canada and to compare the two groups would be unfair."

I go on to score a goal - a nice goal assisted by Fil, I might add - and my team eventually wins 5-4. Fil and I assure everyone that we'll be buying the colas, and the kids proceed to run towards what I believe to be Piquiucho's only convenience store. There, they line up while we walk over at half their pace, exhausted from an hour of football in the suffocating heat of the Equator to which they have become accustomed.

The convenience store is empty, but a woman eventually appears after some shouting from the kids and banging on the windows. We buy two three-litre bottles of cola and a set of cups. It's a scene straight out of a commercial for the World Cup.

After cooling off, we say our goodbyes to the kids and head to the Unidad Educativa del Milenio San Gabriel de Piquiucho, a state-of-the-art institution that opened in 2014 and stands in stark contrast to the poverty of the Chota Valley. It's an impressive sight, one of many institutions inaugurated by Rafael Correa, Ecuador's president, as part of a project to improve education in the country.

Correa is one of the few survivors of South America's "pink tide," a league of left-wing presidents whose progressive dream has been broken apart by old patriarchs. He is loved in the Chota Valley, largely because he is one of the few politicians to have acknowledged the valley's existence and its desperate need for a higher quality of life.

Before Correa came long, it was De la Cruz who did the politicians' work.

Through his foundation, FUNDECRUZ, De la Cruz provided Piquiucho with potable water, sewerage, paved roads, housing, and decent healthcare and education. The supply of clean water is arguably the most important of his contributions. Using money earned from Ecuador's qualification for the 2002 World Cup, 18 kilometres of water pipes and a treatment system were built, helping to prevent the spread of disease.

De La Cruz's generosity encouraged Correa to invest in Piquiucho, and is, just as importantly, producing a second generation of talent for Ecuador's national team that I had the privilege of meeting before they become too famous for me.