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Called Pyat Storon Sveta in Russian, or “five cardinal directions” (North, South, East and West, plus a fifth one that symbolises personal enlightenment) the school teaches wushu. It was founded by philosopher and painter Gusein Magomaev and his wife, Olga.

Magomaev, now 70, was one of the most successful karate instructors in the Soviet Union. But in the early 1980s he switched to wushu, considering it the origin of all martial arts.

The couple then left Moscow for Gusein’s native Dagestan, a multi-ethnic mountainous region in the south of Russia. Next to a village called Khalimbek-Aul, the Magomaevs started to build a wushu academy from scratch in an empty field. Soon hundreds of people started to arrive from all over the Soviet Union to learn.

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But the Magomaevs wanted to teach children. “The most noble profession that exists is working with children – raising them, educating them, coaching them,” Gusein said. They decided to turn the academy into a boarding school for boys where wushu was part of the curriculum. Dagestan was the right place to do it.

In the 19th century it took the Russian Empire decades to establish its rule over the fiercely independent mountain people of the Caucasus in what is now Dagestan. In every one of the dozens of local ethnic groups, men valued bravery and prowess in battle.

Nowadays, Dagestanis express their warrior genes in combat sport. Three million people live in Dagestan, just 2 per cent of the Russian population, but out of 10 Russian fighters currently ranked by the UFC, seven are Dagestani.

The collapse of the USSR devastated Dagestan. The economy folded, poverty soared. The youth, deprived of education and employment opportunities, were sucked into an Islamic insurgency.

Amid this chaos, the Magomaevs and their students put up buildings and recruited teachers. They funded everything, with the state practically bankrupt in the 1990s.

The school formally opened in 1996, accepting boys from the age of 10 from all over Dagestan. There were no fees.

One of the school’s coaches is Evgeniy Saschenko, who arrived in 1990 as a 14-year-old, travelling alone across 1,000 kilometresto learn wushu from Magomaev. “I told my parents that if they don’t let me go, I will run away,” Saschenko said.

An outsider, Saschenko had to win the respect of the tough local boys and learn the customs. But his sporting career was cut short, as there was no money to send competitors anywhere. He became a coach.

Saschenko recalls the hardships of the 1990s. During the insurgency he had to guard the school. “We were issued weapons and radios … the country was in chaos, but we had the strongest desire to learn and to train,” he says.

“In the evenings Gusein Saigidovich (Magomaev) read to us – Plato, Seneca, Lao Tzu, about Confucius. He and his wife became second parents to me and to other lads.”

Thirty years later, coach Saschenko is still there. He married a teacher and their eldest son, Artur, is junior world kick-boxing champion.

The school now has a large gym, modern classrooms and dormitories for 300 boys. Last year 170 children applied. The school could only take 50.

By 2019, the school had produced 4,616 wushu champions – at regional, national, European and world level.

Discipline is strict and the days are spent studying and training. “It is like the army – you know exactly what you must be doing, and when,” UFC star Salikhov recalls.

The school walls are adorned with stern slogans. “Respect others and you will be respected. Look down on others, and you will be looked down on,” reads one.

But the English department has colourful murals of London’s Beefeaters and red double-decker buses. The school prides itself on the quality of its English education.

This is not a Soviet-style “sports school” where grades and exam results are a formality. “The teachers demand a lot of you. You can get a good education here,” Salikhov says.

Saschenko adds: “The main goal of our founder is to develop all-rounded human beings. If a person isn’t developed intellectually, it is like having a body part missing. If a person has no ethics, it is the same. There are many great athletes, but not all are worthy human beings.”

At tournaments the students are even discouraged from celebrating after a win, says Salikhov. This is considered disrespectful.

Salikhov and Zabit reached the pinnacle of sanda. Five-time world champion Salikhov is acknowledged as one of the best – in 2006, he won the open-weight King of Kung Fu tournament in Chongqing, the first non-Chinese to do so. Zabit is five-time Russian champion and 2012 European champion.

Despite sanda being well suited to MMA, the school’s students have trouble with one technique – finishing off the opponent, hitting a man when he is down and hurt.

“I don’t like it. If you see that the guy is not going to get up, better walk away rather than really try to do him in,” Salikhov says.

Will this mindset affect their careers in MMA where brutality and notoriety drive up viewing figures and earning power?

Saschenko’s reply is unequivocal. “Zabit and Muslim will find their own fans – there are many people for whom modesty and decency have value,” he says. “The world will know that our lads conduct themselves with dignity.”

This article appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition as: Dagestan’s ‘Shaolin Temple’ warriors

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