From farm boy to corporate leader, Ákos Szabó's journey is a tapestry of diverse experiences. He navigated combine harvesters at 10, procurement departments at 30, and entire companies at 40. Szabó's career parallels Hungary's economic transformation, from the twilight of its sugar industry to the dawn of modern procurement practices. His adventures span continents and contexts – evading danger in war-torn Croatia, brokering pea deals with Japan, and even sourcing condoms for a national oil company. Join us as we explore the remarkable life of Ákos Szabó, the man now at the helm of Fluenta Europe Ltd.
From combines to computers
Your company is marking its 20-year milestone this year, but your journey in procurement and sales stretches back even further. Was this always your career plan, or did you harbor different aspirations as a kid? Perhaps dreaming of sirens, salutes, or steam engines?
Tractor driver would be closer to the mark. I was raised in Bóly, a small village in Southern Baranya. Don't let its size fool you, though. During the socialist era, Bóly was something of an agricultural powerhouse. Picture this: by 1990, every single street in our village of just a few thousand souls was paved. That's no small feat – it'd turn heads even today, let alone back then.
What made Bóly such a cool place?
Above all, it was the state farm operating there, which still exists today, though now as a private company. Most villages had agricultural cooperatives, but state farms were established in far fewer places. The settlements that got them usually benefited greatly: schools, healthcare facilities, and other institutions were built there. Job opportunities in state farms were also more attractive than elsewhere. My father worked as a mechanical engineer in the neighboring village's cooperative. Every summer, he took me to work with him, putting me on tractors and other machinery. I must have been about ten when I first drove a combine harvester.
How did you transition from operating combine harvesters to working with computers?
It wasn't a straight path. After eighth grade, I felt certain I'd stick with agriculture, so I enrolled in an agricultural high school. I had no interest in further education at that point. I loved fixing machines and tuning up motorcycles with my friend. My parents kept pushing me to continue my studies, but I was adamant – I was going to be a mechanic.
But things didn't go as planned. What changed?
The real game-changer was the arrival of the first computers at our school. I'd been fascinated by this world since I was a kid. At 12 or 13, I used to sneak into the computer room at the combine factory, and I marveled at the few ZX Spectrums owned by the village's well-off families. We weren't in that category, so for me, this story really kicked off in high school.
How did that play out?
From the moment the first HT-1080 computers arrived at school, I was hooked. It wasn't all smooth sailing, though. We didn't have many of these machines, so we were on a strict time-share system – half an hour max per session. But I found myself staying late more and more often, and gradually, I felt a shift happening inside me.
It dawned on me that this was what I wanted to do – I was then set on going to university. My parents had been pushing me to continue my education for a while, but they had their sights set on college. Getting into a university was a tough ask back then, especially coming from a rural high school. The system didn't do me any favors either: we weren't classified as a "worker-peasant" family, which meant I started with a disadvantage in points for the entrance exam. When I told my mother about my university plans, she broke down in tears, terrified I might not make it. But I was determined to succeed. I started taking extra classes and buckled down with my studies, which was probably for the best – before that, I had been far more interested in motorcycles and skipping class than hitting the books.
Five of us from my class headed off to university, but I ended up being the only one to make it through to graduation. In hindsight, I suppose that's when my above-average persistence first became apparent. If I set a goal, I never give up until I've seen it through. That's exactly how things played out with university.
Did you get in on your first try?
I did, but it was a close shave. I applied to the mechanical engineering program at the University of Agriculture in Gödöllő. They allowed us to take the entrance exam in specialized subjects, but here's the catch – they quizzed us on material we hadn't covered in our four years of high school. I later found out this was the examiner's tactic to identify candidates capable of independent thinking. Even with the math problem, I took an unconventional approach. I was convinced I couldn't solve it the standard way, so I figured I'd tackle it my own way. Maybe that impressed them too. Whatever the reason, I made the cut.
People tend to remember their university years as either a grueling marathon or a breeze. Which was it for you?
Definitely more of the former. That year, following the Party's orders, they admitted more students than usual. Sometimes there weren't even enough seats in the lecture halls for everyone. But they assured us this wouldn't last long – they planned to cut 30 percent of students after the first semester. So for the first year and a half, it was brutal. I was working my guts out, sweating blood. I had to learn how to study properly. This wasn't something I really needed to do in high school. Back then, I assumed that understanding the material meant I knew it. It was in Gödöllő that I realized just how mistaken I'd been.
At this point, you were still on track to become a mechanical engineer.
That's right, that's what I was studying. But by the end of the first month, I'd already managed to secure a demonstrator position in the computer science department. This took quite a bit of persistence on my part. Normally, you couldn't even apply for a demonstrator role until your fourth year, so at first, they wouldn't give me the time of day. In the end, luck was on my side – an older student had just vacated the position, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time.
It led to some pretty interesting situations – here I was, a freshman, telling fourth-year students when they could use the Commodore in the computer lab. From that point on, for the next five years, I spent a good chunk of my life in that computer room. It was my way of compromising between my interests in programming and engineering. On the evening of October 22, 1987, I even got locked inside the university building by accident. Back then, for obvious political reasons [the Hungarian Revolution beginning October 23, 1956 – ed.], they'd lock up the university that specific evening and make damn sure not a soul was left on campus. Well, except for me that night – I was still inside when they bolted the doors. As was often the case, I was programming until the crack of dawn. You should've seen the panic on the security guards' faces when I tried to leave in the early hours of the morning.
Course Correction: From Engineering to International Trade
We've covered your journey into computing. But how did trade enter the equation?
It was largely due to the fall of communism. When we started university, they promised us five job offers for every single engineering graduate. Fast forward to our graduation in '90, and that number had plummeted to precisely zero. Around '88, it was already becoming clear that the socialist economy was on its last legs, and we'd be in hot water as fresh graduates.
So we started to ponder: if engineers weren't going to be in demand for a while, what would be? The answer we came up with was international trade.
How does an idea like that strike a fourth-year engineering student?
It was a time when international markets were suddenly opening up to our country, but thanks to the quirks of the previous system, hardly anyone knew how to navigate them. So we decided to steer ourselves in that direction. One of my classmates took the initiative to walk into the College of International Management and ask if they'd be willing to send some instructors to teach us in Gödöllő. They said they'd need at least twenty-five interested students to make it happen. We ended up rounding up about eighty people, which was more than enough to get the program off the ground.
Talk about perfect timing – right then, a new regulation came into effect stating that only companies with specially qualified staff could engage in international trade. This really confirmed we'd made the right call. Overnight, our second degree became an incredibly hot commodity in the job market.
So after graduation, did you dive straight into international trade?
My heart was set on landing an engineering job, but it just wasn't in the cards. My dad tried to pull some strings at the Bóly agricultural complex, but they were letting engineers go left and right, not bringing them on. The boss was upfront about not having any open positions, but for old times' sake, he agreed to glance at my CV. He was floored when he saw I had a foreign trade qualification too. Just like that, I had the job.
It was a fascinatingly unique time. We had colleagues decades our senior who'd hang on our every word, simply because the post-'90 economic landscape was completely alien to them. A former classmate and I were running the show in this area. He'd been there six months when I joined, which practically made him a seasoned veteran. It's rare for new grads to find themselves in such a position. The closest parallel I can think of might be IT specialists about 10-15 years ago.
So, did you succeed in ushering the Bóly agricultural complex into the capitalist era?
We did, and quite successfully at that. But not everyone was thrilled about our progress. The boss at Agrimpex, the big state-run agricultural export company, actually came down to Bóly to read us the riot act. He demanded we stop selling so much product, claiming we were eating into their inventory! It was clear the old state socialist mentality was still alive and kicking.
A perfect example of this mindset was when I requested we replace our old rotary phones with push-button ones. My argument was simple: the redial button would save us precious time. In international trade, time really is money – you could lose deals in seconds, especially given how terrible our phone network was back then. When I pitched this to the boss, I hit a snag. Turns out, the higher-ups were still using rotary phones themselves, and it simply wouldn't do for us underlings to have fancier tech than our superiors. Their solution? They splurged on expensive new phones for all the managers – phones they could barely figure out how to use. This roundabout approach finally allowed us to get our cheaper, but crucially push-button, phones.
Where were you exporting to?
We were selling to neighboring countries like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia – both still existed back then – but we also reached much further afield. We had customers as far away as Pakistan and even Japan.
What on earth could a Hungarian agricultural complex export to Japan?
Believe it or not, a special variety of peas used for snacks. The tricky part was the harvesting – timing was absolutely critical because the Japanese buyers would only accept them when they were perfectly green. We had to monitor the crops daily, watching for the exact moment they started to ripen. Once that moment arrived, we had to harvest immediately. We're talking about a window of just a few hours here. Harvest too early, and the peas would turn to mush; too late, and they'd yellow. There were times we'd have to wake up the combine operators at 3 AM, telling them to hop on their machines and finish before sunrise. It was intense, but the payoff was worth it – we could sell these peas at a premium. That year and a half was one heck of a learning experience.
Which way is the wind blowing?
So, what was the next move?
From there, I transitioned to another company where I focused exclusively on brokerage and intermediary trade. This was right in the thick of the Yugoslav Wars...
Don't miss the second installment of our interview series.
