Croatian Census

Census poster

Late last week, a Croatian census worker knocked on our door.  I had been forewarned by my always-helpful landlord that the 10-year census was happening and I might hear from someone, in which case I was supposed to give the census worker our landlord's cell phone number.  But something must have been prearranged, because the guy who knocked on my door spoke decent English and seemed to know that our family was not native Croat.  I told him I had to pick up my daughters from gymnastics in 10 minutes, and he said it shouldn't take that long.  It took 45 minutes.  

Except for the stack of forms in his arms, there was nothing like a badge to identify him as a legitimate census taker.  But then again, in a country where crime is rare, the need for such identification is probably unnecessary.  We sat down at the dining room table and he pulled out a two-sided form, about the size of a paper placemat.  There were the standard questions, like birthdate, religion, marital status, income, country of birth, primary language, education completed (which is the only time my MBA ever feels useful), but there were odd questions too, like do we use computers, and if so, what programs.  Does our apartment have heat, if so, is it gas heat?  He also made note of our arrival in and anticipated departure from Croatia.  The whole time, my census worker is sweating all over the form, because in Croatia, people seem to wear winter clothes until the end of May.  For example, today I saw a woman wearing a knee-length down coat and it was 73 degrees.  My census guy was wearing a long sleeved, hooded fleece sweatshirt, and to get to our apartment requires a fair amount of exercise.

Long after I sent Jonah to pick up the girls, he finished his questions for me and started packing away the form.  I thought we were done.  But that was just the first of five handwritten forms, because each member of the family had a dedicated form.  So I went through each of the forms with him, and of course, it went faster each time.

I complemented his handwriting and my census worker told me that all applicants for the job have to pass a handwriting test.  I told him that in the U.S., the census forms are mailed to all households, filled out, and mailed back, and the U.S. census workers only have to go to the houses where the forms weren't returned.  He told me that they do it that newfangled way in Slovenia, but in Croatia, it's all done by hand.

We finally finished all the forms, and he left.  But by chance, I ran into him in the hallway the next day as we were walking out the door, and he told me he forgot to ask me a question.  The question was about air conditioning, and whether our apartment has it.  I told him I didn't think so, but I made a mental note, remembering the sweat dripping off his face, that I really ought to find out for sure before summer really kicks into gear.

After all that, I don't think we'll be included in the official count.  The Republic of Croatia Bureau of Statistics website says that:

the total population shall include:

- persons who have been resident in the Republic of Croatia in the moment of Census at the place of their usual residence continually no less than 12 months.

Oh well!